Unto the passing lights and evening hues, br Unto the endless waves of life, br He plays his Piccolo br To the tune of matchless olden times. br br Against the sinking sun, br Against the waking moon br The Piccolo follows a song br And drops it among the passers-by. br br It is a quiet eve br It is a river-side. br There in search of a comfortable night, br The piper opens his lute. br br Under the umpteen stars br He spends his sleepless nights. br In the many corners of the city br He is an endless traveller. br br A pilgrim of infinite- br He is caught by the wilderness of life. br But his countenance is serene br As the stillness of the scene. br br There in the softness of air br He plays in heart and throb. br There, unto the moving world br He presents a momentous hour. br br And I see an old couple br Wipe off their tears. br Away to the shores of yore br They are swept by the wholesome music. br br And in his basket br They deposit a few Francs. br Beyond the tingling coins br A soulful heart is heard. br br And the couple disappear into the city lights br Moved, relieved and really pacified. br Silently they sit at the dinner table br Longing for the winds of yore. br br Late into the eve and beyond br The Piccolo player opens his fountain. br And away into his corner he shrinks br Emptying his richness into the world.